e you, mother."

"It is--just like me," she responded, a tone of half-tender mockery in
her voice. "Naturally I find it difficult to forgive the woman who has
hurt my son."

Tim answered her out of the fullness of the queer new wisdom with which
love had endowed him.

"A man would rather be hurt by the woman he loves than humoured by the
woman he doesn't love," he said quietly.

And Elisabeth, understanding, held her peace.

She had been very controlled, very wise and circumspect in her dealing
with Tim, conscious of raw-edged nerves that would bear but the lightest
of handling. But it was another woman altogether who, half-an-hour
later, faced Geoffrey Durward in the seclusion of his study.

The two moving factors in Elisabeth's life had been, primarily, her love
for her husband, and, later on, her love for Tim, and into this later
love was woven all the passionately protective instinct of the maternal
element. She was the type of woman who would have plucked the feathers
from an archangel's wing if she thought they would contribute to her
son's happiness; and now, realizing that the latter was threatened by
the fact that his love for Sara had failed to elicit a responsive fire,
she felt bitterly resentful and indignant.

"I tell you, Geoffrey," she declared in low, forceful tones, "she
_shall_ marry Tim--_she shall_! I will not have his beautiful young life
marred and spoilt by the caprices of any woman."

Major Durward looked disturbed.

"My dear, I shouldn't call Sara in the least a capricious woman. She
knows her own heart--"

"So does Tim!" broke in Elisabeth. "And, if I can compass it, he shall
have his heart's desire."

Her husband shook his head.

"You cannot force the issue, my dear."

"Can I not? There's little a woman _cannot_ do for husband or child! I
tell you, Geoffrey--for you, or for Tim, to give you pleasure, to buy
you happiness, I would sacrifice anybody in the world!"

She stood in front of him, her beautiful eyes glowing, and her voice was
all shaken and a-thrill with the tumult of emotion that had gripped
her. There was something about her which suggested a tigress on the
defensive--at bay, shielding her young.

Durward looked at her with kind, adoring eyes.

"That's beautiful of you, darling," he replied gently. "But it's
a dangerous doctrine. And I know that, really, you're far too
tender-hearted to sacrifice a fly."

Elisabeth regarded him oddly.

"You don't know me, Geo